Assassin's Creed Unity: Adventures of the Blue Phantom
by C10aKnDa66eR
Summary: A mysterious masked vigilante metes out justice to those who would prey on the innocent and fearful in Revolutionary Era France.


_Assassin's Creed Unity: Adventures of the Blue Phantom_

Chapter 1: Qui Est le Fantome Bleu?

Rumors of a masked and hooded man dressed in blue spread throughout Paris that bloody summer of 1790. It began with a series of strange, unexplained events and several unconfirmed sightings that captured the city's attention even in a time of great social upheaval. Early on the morning of 14 July, one year after the storming of the Bastille, Madame la Vigueur reported that a thief stole her bag on the Boulevard Saint Germain and ran into the night. She chased after him down the street and into an alley only to find him senseless and bound, her bag full of coins sitting undisturbed on his lap. The formidable Madame la Vigueur proceeded to give the thief a stern lecture on the perils of greed. That same night at the Place Dauphin, a book burning was disrupted by clouds of smoke that appeared out of nowhere. The frightened crowd quickly dispersed, and the ringleaders were quite puzzled when the smoke finally cleared to find the forbidden tomes marked for destruction missing and the fire doused. And across town, Citizen Umbrage told the authorities summoned to the unfortunate scene on the Rue Saint Honore that a blue blur leapt from a three-story building to the ground and made short work of three extremists who had been harassing a poor merchant on his way to work. The three men still lay groaning, clutching their stomachs, as Umbrage recounted what he saw: "I heard what sounded like an eagle's screech, and then a blue giant appeared in the middle of the fray…No, I couldn't see his face at all. He wore a hood and a mask. There was a flash of gold and silver, the sound of swords clattering, and then as quickly as he came, he was gone! I tell you, citizen, whoever he is, he's a menace to the public safety!"

These three separate reports were dismissed by many as fanciful, superstitious nonsense, merely just another eventful night in an eventful summer. Paris had plenty to discuss on the anniversary of the Bastille; at the Fete de la Federation, the King and General Lafayette both took oaths of allegiance to the new constitution. France's future, though uncertain, seemed more hopeful. But the following week, there was an incident at dusk on the road to Calais. Papa Émigré knew that things would eventually get worse inside the city and decided to take his family to England via Calais, but soon after they left the city, several brigands emerged from the bushes and blocked their path. Papa Émigré protested, but they pulled their cruel-looking weapons. There were many such bandits hiding outside Paris, preying on families and travelers fleeing to safety. In those bloody days, life was cheap, so these men were more likely to kill you and search your corpse. One leering cutthroat grabbed his daughter and held her close, his intentions obvious and horrible, while another backhanded his young son, knocking him to the ground. The leader of the brigands, tall and swarthy, pointed his cutlass at Mama Émigré and demanded her jewels. Mama Émigré started to scream for help, however unlikely it would be to arrive, when she suddenly heard a gunshot from behind her. She winced, thinking her husband dead, when the tall bandit clutched his chest and fell to his knees, blood trickling from his mouth. His men looked around wildly, but saw nothing but trees and the road in the gloam. Another shot rang out, this time from the opposite direction, and another highwayman collapsed, a neat, round, smoking hole in his head. A small cannonball then bounced onto the road in between the last two bandits, exploding into smoke and crackling lights. As the family later told the story in the Auberge de Soleil while waiting for passage across the Channel, they heard nothing but the _snicker-snack_ of what sounded like daggers, and then it was over. When the smoke cleared, two bodies lay on the road with their throats slit, and Papa thought he saw a blue cloak disappearing into the darkness.

"Qu'est-ce que c'etait?" the innkeeper asked. He had stopped washing the glasses to listen.

Papa shook his head and finished the rest of his wine in one gulp. "Je ne sais pas…un fantome."

The Emigres were never seen in France again, but stories of a "blue phantom" soon circulated in London and caught the attention of one Sir Percy Blakeney.

By the end of July and throughout the summer, the salons and cafes of Paris, lately concerned with political discussions and the future of France, were abuzz with the latest rumors and sightings of the mysterious stranger dressed in blue. Some said, like Citizen Umbrage, that he was a giant, and others said he appeared only as a blue cloud or haze. Young Remy the Idiot said he caught a glimpse of a figure leaping from roof to roof in le Marais, his great blue cloak billowing like a cape, the gold hilt of his sword gleaming in the moonlight. Victor and Hugo the blacksmith twins told many a drunken story of the night they stepped into an alley and saw a shadowy face, a black mask, and two dark eyes staring them down. They were more excited by the encounter than embarrassed by their fear. In September the first edition of _Le Pere Duchesne_ demanded that the Masked Man finally reveal himself. Jean-Paul Marat, the "friend of the people," wrote an incendiary article on how ineffective government creates such vigilantes. According to Marat, "Since the people have nothing more to expect from their representatives, it behooves them to mete out justice for themselves…hence, this masked vigilante." Even the usually impartial _Gazette_ asked readers in a somewhat exaggerated and alliterative headline, "The Blue Phantom: Merciless Masked Menace or Valiant Vigilante?"

By the coming of winter, despite little actual concrete evidence of a mysterious masked man, anyone who was anyone had a personal story of the Blue Phantom. He had earned the consternation of both extremists and royalists because he targeted both equally – those who would prey on the defenseless sooner or later caught his attention. It was even rumored that he personally caused the ruin of finance minister Jacques Necker with some carefully planted incriminating documents. The Duchess of Fremiet told her fellow aristos that the Phantom personally helped her claim her son's body – cruelly lynched by a mob of extremists – from the authorities. The poor Afame family shared a bounteous feast, the likes of which perhaps even the Queen had not enjoyed, with their neighbors in the Cour de Miracles – all courtesy of the Blue Phantom. The young and beautiful Mademoiselle Desiree Coquette even claimed to have kissed him, and her fiancé boasted of it to his friends in the tavern.

On the morning of 6 January 1791, just days after the Comte de Mirabeau was elected president of the Assembly, the local gendarmes were summoned to Notre Dame to investigate a murder. Charles Gabriel Sivert – an acquaintance of the late Francois de la Serre and potential political rival of Mirabeau - was found murdered in a confessional, his throat slit and his clothes soaked in blood. In fact, the body may have even stayed there longer had the blood not gradually pooled outside on the floor. The murder of a high-profile public figure, even one as universally disliked as Sivert, would demand swift results. So, the case would require the personal (if not exactly skillful) touch of Charles Cochon de Lapparent, the chief of police, who arrived shortly afterwards and surveyed the scene.

"What do you have?" Lapparent asked Jacques Cloudeau, the young gendarme leading the investigation.

"Not much, monsieur," Cloudeau shrugged.

"Anyone see or hear anything?"

"No witnesses, and the only clue we have to go on is a window in the tribune with a broken latch," Cloudeau pointed, "As well as the stab wound itself, possibly caused by a small dagger."

"The window?" Lapparent ran a hand through his sparse hair and looked up to the arcaded gallery above the nave.

"Oui, monsieur. We think that's how he got in because no one saw any suspicious figure enter or exit through the front, and the staircases are all locked securely."

"It would take an acrobat to reach that window from the outside…" Lapparent said. "And I don't see a single way up or down without using the stairs."

"The window was closed and latched again behind him, whoever it was, so he must have exited some other way," Cloudeau said. "I'm afraid we have nothing more to go on."

Lapparent inspected the murder scene in silence and paced for a minute by the confessionals. "So, a dead body in the confessional, his throat slit, possibly from the other side through the lattice; blood-soaked clothes and a pool of blood at his feet, suggesting he bled out quickly; and not a single witness who saw or heard anything…"

"Then what exactly killed him, I wonder?" Cloudeau scratched his head. "A phantom?"

Lapparent and Cloudeau both fell silent and looked up at each other.

"Who exactly _is_ the Blue Phantom?" Lapparent mused out loud. "An ingenious murder perpetrated by a stealthy acrobat…Is that who we are indeed now chasing, Jacques? And if so, why has he suddenly graduated to political assassination?"

Lapparent crossed one arm and rested his chin on the other fist. This case would require a gifted detective, he thought, someone outside his own limited resources. He turned to Cloudeau and said, "Find me Victor Dorian."


End file.
